


In a Box Beneath My Bed

by nontoxic



Series: love is a ruthless game [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Episode: s04e12 Singles Week, M/M, This is deeply self-indulgent, alternate season 3, alternate season 4, friends to idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nontoxic/pseuds/nontoxic
Summary: "I'm Patrick, I just moved in here," he says, extending a hand, which David shakes out of instinct. Patrick's grip is firm, his fingertips rough in a way that makes goosebumps stand up on David's arms.David wants those strong handsliterallyall over him.This is the first thought David shoves into the "Patrick" box in his mind, before it was even the "Patrick" box.---David's next door neighbor/business consultant is hot, and single, and spending way too much time with David when he should be focusing on making a connection at Singles Week.(a strangers-to-friends-to-idiots-to-lovers singles week au)
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose
Series: love is a ruthless game [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952149
Comments: 111
Kudos: 351





	In a Box Beneath My Bed

**Author's Note:**

> i saw a [post](https://wild-aloof-rebel.tumblr.com/post/620010155027955712/wild-aloof-rebel-every-time-they-show-a-shot) on tumblr a while ago pointing out that rays house is next door to the motel, and it has lived rent-free in my mind ever since, so here we are. 
> 
> also, im so sorry, i wrote most of this during election week, so this is some deeply self-indulgent stuff here, guys.
> 
> \--  
> title from "tim mcgraw" by taylor swift

David is on his way into town to meet his mother for lunch when he notices a man removing a box from Ray's house and putting it into the trunk of a nondescript sedan.

Is he _robbing_ him?

"Excuse me, who are you?" David asks, somehow deciding to get involved in this.

"Who are _you_?" the man asks. Which, okay. Fair.

"I live here," he gestures at the motel next door, "and I am a concerned neighbor."

The man smirks. "You must be David Rose."

David just gapes at him. How the fuck...?

"I'm Patrick, I just moved in here," he says, extending a hand, which David shakes out of instinct. Patrick's grip is firm, his fingertips rough in a way that makes goosebumps stand up on David's arms.

David wants those strong hands _literally_ all over him.

This is the first thought David shoves into the "Patrick" box in his mind, before it was even the "Patrick" box.

\---

He's doing squats on the lawn, now that someone is finally seeing him naked on the regular, when he spots Patrick's sedan pull into Ray's driveway.

He refuses to admit how closely he watches as Patrick, in his (very dashing) hiking clothes, hops out and reaches far into the trunk to retrieve a backpack.

David _definitely_ won't admit that he continues to watch Patrick's ass in those horrible hiking pants as he climbs the front steps and disappears inside.

It's just that no one's ass should look that good in khaki cargo pants.

\---

David puts the Lincoln in park and steps out of the car before grabbing his bag from the backseat.

"Nice wheels," someone says from behind him, and David will never gain back the years lost on his life from the scare.

When he pulls his head out from the car, he spots Patrick leaning against the trunk. His eyes flick upwards, as if he had been checking out David's ass the same way David had a few weeks ago. But David squashes down that thought, not even bothering to throw it into the box. It's too absurd a notion to even entertain.

"Mm, thanks so much," David snaps before slamming the car door shut.

Patrick laughs. "It suits you."

David narrows his eyes at him. "Was there something you wanted, or...?"

Patrick's smile inverts, pulling down at the corners as if David deeply amuses him, before holding up his padfolio like the absolute fucking business school nerd he apparently is. "Just needed to get a signature from your mom on some permits, and she told me to swing by."

"Sounds thrilling," David replies, before he steps away to unlock the door to his room, and stepping inside before Patrick can suck him into further conversation.

And really, he needs to control his own thoughts, because suddenly, he _needs_ to get in the shower, the absently-strung-together words "Patrick can suck him" playing on a loop in his mind.

\---

"Oh, good morning, David!"

It takes more self-control than David would like to admit to force down a petulant groan. This man is going to be a _problem_. "Hi," he greets, flatly, glancing over at Patrick on Ray's porch from his spot on the sidewalk. A spot he hadn't planned to stop in. A spot he doesn't think he ever _has_ stopped in, just an unremarkable square of concrete between him and a macchiato.

"Headed into town?"

"Yes." He needs this conversation to end.

"I'll walk with you, I could use the fresh air."

David _does_ groan then, because who the fuck _talks_ like that?

Still, the company is almost nice, and it's a quick walk to the café, so he's fine.

Until Patrick just orders a tea and offers to walk back with him.

\---

And until it happens three more times over the next week.

He's spent the last car-less year thankful that the café was in walking distance, but suddenly, he wishes he had an excuse to not walk into town with Patrick at every given opportunity.

\---

David feels Patrick's gaze on him through the window as he returns to the motel with a business card in one hand, an incorporation form in the other, and the sting of "take this, it's my card, and I feel like you will need it" prickling the back of his mind.

Fuck Patrick Brewer (he'd love to — and he shoves that thought right into the "Patrick" box) and fuck his big brown eyes and fuck his sharp tongue and fuck his strong forearms and fuck the fact that he's _watching David walk home with his tail between his legs_ and probably laughing at him as he does.

David glances back over his shoulder with his most cutting glare as he opens the door to his room, and sees the curtains move.

And then he gets high with Stevie and insists on calling Patrick to give him a piece of his mind before he fills out his own goddamn incorporation papers.

And then he sobers up and realizes he crossed out the name of his business no less than four times and there was no longer room for "Rose Apothecary" on the line provided.

He groans as he walks back next door, and when Patrick grins at him, he feels his stomach flip dangerously.

That night, he imagines a hundred different deeply romantic scenarios with his new neighbor, before shoving them all into that box and pushing it deep into the recesses of his mind.

\---

When Patrick walks into David's store, the day after he spent six hours helping him and Alexis rearrange and unpack boxes, David is surprised.

"I'm not here for your sister," Patrick tells him, sending a spark of self-satisfaction (tinged with something else David refuses to acknowledge) down his spine.

And when Patrick explains to him that he may need more start-up money, David feels his hackles go up a bit, defensive of his business before it even opens.

"Oh, more _start up money_ ," he jokes. "And where do you think I'll get that money?"

"Well, when you're supporting local businesses, there are grants that you can apply for. And I would be happy to assist you with those applications."

David takes a breath to relax. "That is very, um... very generous."

"Well, I wouldn't be doing it for free," Patrick says, trailing off with a smile. David watches him glance around the store for a moment, seemingly torn about something. "I mean, if the grants come through, you could afford my retainer fee."

"Ah, so you're just looking for a client."

"What else would I be looking for?" Patrick asks, his lips quirking into a smirk that David would say borders on flirtatious if he ever allowed himself to think about that.

"Right, um. Okay then. If you get the grants, I will... pay you your fee."

"Oh, I'm gonna get the money."

If David gets hard at that, he would say so, but he definitely doesn't, so he won't. And since he doesn't get hard, this moment doesn't even need to go in the box.

"Okay."

\---

From: patrickbrewer@gmail.com

Subject: Grant Applications

To: info@roseapothecary.ca

Attached:  RA Grants.pdf (215 KB) 

Hello David,

Congratulations, your applications for the attached grants have been approved.

Please let me know if I can help with anything else.

\- Patrick

  


From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: Re: Grant Applications

To: patrickbrewer@gmail.com

Patrick,

This is perfect, thank you.

I'll let you know if anything comes up, since I can afford your fee now.

David

  


\---

"Wow," Patrick greets him when David finally makes his way over to say hi. "This is a success."

"Yeah, well, since our relationship is strictly consultant/consultee, the friends and family discount does not apply for you."

"Oh, ouch, David," Patrick jokes, his eyes sparkling in a way that definitely doesn't make David's stomach flip.

David purses his lips to avoid grinning at him. "Well, I suppose I could offer a 25% friend discount to thank you for all of your help with the paperwork."

"Oh, I can't accept that."

"Mm?"

"Yeah, because then I'd have to give you a discount off my fee next time you need help and I'm _definitely_ not doing that."

David gestures around. "You think I'll need your help?"

"So you're gonna file your own taxes then?"

"You have made your point, please enjoy shopping at Rose Apothecary, where everything today is full-price for you."

Patrick laughs, claps David once on the shoulder, and steps away.

\---

The next morning, Patrick is lacing up his ugly hiking boots on Ray's porch when David passes by, and he invites himself to walk with him to get a tea.

David refuses to think about why he would walk into town with him instead of just stopping on his way to whatever creepy woods he goes to.

\---

David steps out of the back door at Town Hall, ready to make his escape, when he sees Patrick getting into his car and he freezes.

Maybe if he stands still enough, Patrick won't notice him.

"Great performance, David! Really seasonally appropriate."

David just glares at him.

"You heading back to the motel?" Patrick asks.

"Once I'm done drowning my embarrassment in wine and french fries at the café, yes."

Patrick laughs. "Do you want company? I can take you back to the motel after. That way you don't have to walk in your..." he trails off and looks at David's outfit consideringly, "tracksuit," he finishes, as if there's a joke there.

David gasps. "Tracksuit?! This is Givenchy!"

Patrick just laughs at him. "Okay, sure, that."

David pulls his lips between his teeth before finally relenting. "Fine."

Patrick opens the passenger door with a teasing grin. David glares at him before climbing in and pulling it shut himself, nearly slamming Patrick's fingers in the door as he does.

"So," Patrick starts while he eases the car out of the parking space, "how long did you have to rehearse this?"

"Ugh, I didn't."

"Okay, there's no way you improv'd that," Patrick tells him.

David shakes his head. "No, we um... we actually did that every year at our holiday party."

Patrick is silent for a moment. "So why'd you do it now?"

He shrugs. "My mom was getting panicky about her piece so I suggested it," he responds, waving it off like nothing.

Out of the corner of his eye, David watches Patrick readjust a bit in his seat. "That was nice of you."

"Ugh, can you drive faster, there's too much sincerity in here, it's making my throat close up."

Patrick laughs, but David notices that he doesn't speed up. "So, what else did you do today?"

David spends the rest of the (short) drive to the café regaling Patrick with the tale of his sister sniffing out a group of shoplifting teens while in the store for research on a school project. "What about you?" he asks, just as they park in the small lot behind the café.

"Oh, you know, filed Bob's quarterly taxes, helped one of your vendors with their inventory system, actually."

"Really? Who?"

"That's confidential client information, David," Patrick tells him seriously.

David feels his face flush. "Oh, right, o-of course, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I'm kidding, David, it's fine!" Patrick says with a chuckle as he opens the door to the café, gesturing for David to go in ahead. "It was Barbara."

"Bath Bomb Barbara?" David asks as he slides into his favorite booth, his back to the door.

Patrick stops for a moment. "I didn't realize we were eating here," he says as he sits down across from him.

David just waves him off. "Well, the mozzarella sticks don't travel well — learned _that_ lesson the hard way — and letting you share my appetizer is the least I can do to thank you for smuggling me out of Town Hall before my mother dragged me on stage for an encore."

Patrick looks pleased. For some reason, it makes David want to hide under the table.

George pulls up to their table then to brusquely take their orders, and David is grateful to not have to deal with Twyla's sunny disposition when he's feeling so thoroughly embarrassed. He hopes she sticks around at Town Hall for the "post-performance cocktail reception with film and television's Moira Rose."

After David order's his very specific burger configuration ("Please put the tomato between the lettuce and the patty"), he turns back to Patrick and realizes that he has literally nothing to say to the man.

"So, are you from around here, or...?"

Patrick clenches his jaw. It's subtle, but it's there. "No, I, uh. I'm actually from a town about an hour east of Winnipeg."

That's... surprising. David thought his family were the only transplants in town. "Oh," he starts. "What, um. What brings you to town?"

Patrick forces a smile. "Needed a change of scenery."

Okay then, not getting much out of this topic. David switches tactics. "So how do you like it here?"

He watches as Patrick's forced smile softens a bit. "It's, uh... it's pretty great, actually."

"It's _great_." David repeats in disbelief.

"Yeah. It's uh... incredible, actually."

David looks away, uncomfortable under Patrick's gaze for some reason, and is relieved to spot George heading over with their drinks.

They sip and chat mindlessly about town gossip, and David launches into Elmdale restaurant rankings when the mozzarella sticks arrive, and by the time they're polishing off their burgers, they almost feel like friends.

Almost.

At least vague acquaintances.

Friendly neighbors and colleagues, maybe.

Which just means that he's comfortable letting Patrick drive him home, without worrying about him being an axe murderer.

But when they pull up to the motel, David is reluctant to leave.

"Well," he starts, once he has unclipped his seatbelt. "That was... surprisingly fun."

"Oh, 'surprisingly?' Should I be offended?"

David looks at his blue shirt and jacket pointedly. "I mean, you do kind of have a _business major_ -y vibe."

Patrick just stares at him. "I _was_ a business major."

"Mmhmm, of course you were," David says as he reaches for the handle.

And as he closes the door, he hears an amused, "Goodnight, David," call out.

He leans down to peer in the window as he replies, "Goodnight, Patrick," in a softer tone than he can justify.

\---

The bell chimes and David glances up from his mess of an inventory sheet to see Patrick, sunlight streaming in behind him, and his heart skips a beat for some reason. Maybe he should go see Ted again. Surely _this_ is a pulmonary embolism?

"Hey, I got your email and was just heading to the café for lunch so I figured I'd just stop in to chat if you have time?"

David nods. "Um. Yeah, sure. Now is... Now is fine." He doesn't understand why he's so unmoored by Patrick's unplanned presence in his store.

"Great, so, that contract you sent over for Warner Farms, it was pretty thorough, but I think there's a clause in there that can..."

David listens and nods and takes Patrick's advice to heart because he knows his shit, and when Patrick is done, he hands the marked-up paper back to David and he realizes he could've just sent back an annotated PDF. It's so typical of Patrick to do the warmer, Schitt's Creek thing of stopping by for a business chat. David can't help but think how strange it is that Patrick hasn't always been here. He feels like he belongs in a way David still doesn't.

"Um, hey, do you, uh, want to join me? For lunch?" Patrick asks.

It's tempting. He _is_ hungry, but, "No, I should edit this contract and send it over, I don't want to give Heather a chance to change her mind."

Patrick smiles softly at him and David feels his heart do the thing again and wonders if he can take tomorrow off to go to the clinic in Elmdale to get an MRI or something. "She'd be an idiot to not work with you, David."

"Thanks," he says in a whisper, though he really didn't mean to.

When Patrick stops back in (unannounced, again) a half an hour later to drop off a caramel macchiato and a salad that "Twyla said was your usual" with those horrible, big eyes of his, David can't stop himself from thinking about how intense it must be for the person who gets Patrick's undivided attention.

And he _really_ can't help the unexplainable surge of white-hot jealousy he feels at this faceless hypothetical being.

And when Patrick has finally taken his leave to go back to Ray's, David locks it all up in the box and shoves it deep, deep into the corners of his mind.

\---

From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: Marketing Assistance

To: patrickbrewer@gmail.com

Patrick,

Do you offer any marketing services? I need to get people in the store and all I can think of is offering free booze but that will soon put me out of business and also I may need a liquor license?

\- David

  


From: patrickbrewer@gmail.com

Subject: Re: Marketing Assistance

To: info@roseapothecary.ca

Hi David,

I am happy to discuss options with you, but wouldn't your sister be cheaper?

Either way, I have some time tomorrow if you'd like me to schedule you an appointment.

Patrick Brewer  
Brewtani Business Consulting  
905-555-0605  
patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

  


From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: Re: Re: Marketing Assistance

To: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Patrick,

I'm not even going to comment on your email signature, I will just confirm that tomorrow works for me. Can you do 1:00? I'm happy to bring lunch.

\- David

  


From: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Marketing Assistance

To: info@roseapothecary.ca

Hi David,

1:00 works. Do you mind grabbing a club sandwich for me? I'll knock the $6 off my fee.

Patrick Brewer  
Brewtani Business Consulting  
905-555-0605  
patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

  


\---

"So, 'Brewtani?'" David says as soon as he enters Patrick's makeshift meeting space at Ray's kitchen table.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"No, I think we _should_. This is a _marketing_ meeting after all, and I'm not sure how much I can trust you on this if—"

"It was Ray's idea, and it was easier to just say yes."

David grins. "I suppose you're forgiven. Here is your club sandwich," he says, handing over the container. "I got the tomatoes on the side because I remembered you ordered your burger without, but I didn't know if you wanted them on your sandwich or not." _Shut up, oh my god_.

Patrick smiles softly at him. "Yeah, I uh, forgot to say no tomatoes, so thank you."

He beams, proud to have done this for Patrick, but brushes it off with a joking, "Well, that really just defeats the entire purpose of ordering a club sandwich."

"So," Patrick starts, changing the subject. "You need help getting people into the store?"

David dresses his side salad, carefully avoiding eye contact as he admits, "It's slowed down a lot since I opened."

"Well, that's to be expected. How slow are we talking here?"

David aimlessly pushes his salad around with his fork. "Um, well yesterday, I didn't see a single customer, and before coming over here today, no one had come in."

"Oh."

"I mean, there _was_ a storm warning for today."

"Then how do you explain yesterday?" Patrick teases.

"Mmk, I am here for support, not harassment," he says, before shoveling a forkful of salad in his mouth and wishing it were french fries.

Patrick chuckles. "Well, what have you been doing for marketing?"

David swallows down his bite. "Mm, mmk, so, I have a sandwich board outside, and the website Alexis built is _surprisingly_ beautiful, and the store's Instagram grid is a cohesive, soothing color palette highlighting various products."

Patrick just blinks at him. "And?"

"And what?"

"What marketing have you done?"

"I just told you."

Patrick chuckles. "Okay, so you need to find a way to engage with the community." He places his sandwich down, contemplatively. "You know why people are always in the café? Because they feel at home there, it feels comfortable."

David bristles. "Are you saying I don't make people feel at home?"

Patrick smirks. "Um... not sure how you want me to answer that one, David."

"Okay!"

"You remember your opening day?"

"It was opening day and there was booze and people are drunks!" he says, defensively.

"Yes, but they still showed up. Come on, David, you gotta do _something_ to make the store feel a _little_ more welcoming and inclusive."

David sighs. "Okay, I am... open to suggestions."

"I think you should host an open mic night."

David blinks at him. "I am... _open_ to suggestions."

Patrick laughs. "I'm serious. I'll even do the paperwork and host it for you."

David leans back in his chair. "Why-wh... why would you do that?"

He shrugs. "I used to host open mic nights in high school. Kinda miss it."

"Oh, so you're just using me to relive your high school fantasies."

Patrick blinks. "Something like that," he responds with a smirk.

David feels his stomach flip. He wonders if there's another E. coli outbreak on spinach. Even though his salad is made of iceberg lettuce. "I don't like this idea."

"I can live with that."

"And I'm not paying you to host."

"That's fine."

David purses his lips. "Fine. We will... co-host an open mic night."

"Great."

"A true Rose-Apothecary-slash-Brewtani-Business-Consulting event."

Patrick glares at him and takes a bite of his sandwich.

\---

Two weeks after Patrick played "Fantasy" on stage at Rose Apothecary, making David feel absolutely nothing and definitely not sending sparks over his skin that felt more like being struck by lightning, Patrick's fiancée shows up.

And it's not like David didn't _know_ Patrick was too good to be true. Somewhere in the cobweb-covered corners of his mind where he shoves thoughts of blue button-ups and too-tight Levi's and wide, honey whiskey eyes and a beautiful smile that makes David's knees tremble, those corners where he shoves the _maybes_ and the _ifs_ , he _knew_. If he actually thought about him, he would think he was too good to be true.

But he doesn't think about him. And doesn't go poking around in those dark corners for the box labeled "Patrick," because he doesn't think he could handle opening it.

Still, this striking woman is browsing bath bombs and David is considering flirting with her (and he won't feel shame about it, okay, beautiful strangers don't show up often in this town — except for once, six months ago, but he tosses that thought into the overflowing "Patrick" box, too) when Patrick walks in, his eyes immediately finding David's where he stands behind the counter.

"Hey, I got that temporary food handling permit for the cooking demonstration next week."

"Okay, it's not _cooking_ , Carol is showing people how to use her olive oils to create dressings and marinades that conveniently pair beautifully with the wines, produce, and cheese one can find at Rose Apothecary."

Patrick grins at him and David rests his definitely-not-shaking hands on the counter for no reason whatsoever.

"Whatever you say David, but here is your permit," he tells him, flipping open his (adorable, David thinks, before tossing that in the "Patrick" box as well) padfolio and brandishing a document with the Schitt's Creek Town Council stamp and David's own mother's signature, "and you are free to proceed as planned."

"Well, thank you. What do I owe you this time?"

Patrick laughs. "Well, about that. I was wondering if instead, maybe we could—"

"Patrick?"

They both turn to face the customer (who David definitely didn't forget about the second Patrick walked into the store — he's gonna need to get a bigger box if these thoughts keep popping up so often).

"Rachel? What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for my _fiancé_. Why haven't you answered my texts?"

It feels like the floor drops out from under him, and David's grip on the counter tightens.

Patrick looks back at David, his eyes wide, before turning to face the woman — _Rachel_. "We should talk, Rach."

"Yeah, I'd say so."

He gestures to the door, holding it open for her. He glances at David with an unreadable expression, just for a second, before he follows her out and they disappear around the corner.

David swallows, then creates a new, airtight, hermetically-sealed, triple-locked, impenetrable box, even larger than the first, and shoves the sick feeling in his gut as far inside it as he can.

\---

He spots Patrick at the Wobbly Elm one night with Stevie, when they both go out in their best leather jackets and attempt to cruise for randoms.

Which is surprising. David hasn't seen him in a week, so he had assumed he'd left town with that beautiful redhead, back to whatever small town he came from that is just like this one but hours away.

So when he walks in and sees him, standing at the bar with his wallet open, he freezes.

"David, what—" Stevie starts, but cuts herself off. "Oh. _Oh_. Oh, man, you're so fucked."

He ignores her, and watches as Patrick signals to the bartender that he's leaving cash, tosses back the last gulp of his beer (and David _definitely_ throws that image of his pale throat into his new, impenetrable "Patrick" box), grabs his coat, turns to leave, and freezes for a second when he spots David.

He watches as Patrick swallows, takes a deep breath, and stalks over ( _box, box, box_ ).

"I'm gonna get us some drinks," Stevie says, making herself scarce. David barely hears her.

"Hey," Patrick greets.

"Hi."

"Sorry about the other day at the store, I didn't mean to pull you into that drama."

"It's fine." One corner of Patrick's mouth quirks into an apologetic smile. "W-what, um. What are you still doing here then?"

He watches Patrick shrug one (broad, strong, absolutely biteable, definitely box-worthy) shoulder and David clenches his fist involuntarily. "I don't think I'm finished with this place yet."

It's vague and David wants to hit him. "And your _fiancée_ is going to, what, wait for you?" It comes out bitchier than he intended, but he thinks maybe Patrick deserves it. He just isn't sure why.

"She's not my fiancée. Hasn't been for a while."

David waves him off. "Sorry, sorry. You don't have to explain yourself. That was unprofessional."

Patrick tilts his head as if he's amused. And he's right, David isn't known for his boundaries.

"Anyway, um, I'm gonna go... grab a drink," he says as he steps around him.

"I'll see you around, David," Patrick calls behind his back.

"Yeah," he replies, half-turning, not caring at all if Patrick hears him.

\---

Patrick looks unfairly at ease in his soft-looking sweater, lounging against the arm of the Schitt’s ancient sofa, dangerously close to a baby-shaped piñata, chatting with Ray, snacking on soft cheese, and wrapping his lips around a beer bottle.

David doesn't speak to him all night except to decline a ride home when Patrick politely offers.

He's starting to wonder if opening that box so often to shove things inside it is letting things sneak out, because he can't stop thinking that Patrick looks really, _really_ good right now, shrugging on his navy coat in the Schitt's entryway.

God, he can't wait for Singles Week. He needs to get laid.

\---

From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: Contract Cancellation

To: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Attached:  Rosebud Contract 2016.pdf (175 KB)

Patrick,

Can you please look over the attached contract to see if I would be able to cancel it?

Also, if you have any brilliant ideas to smooth over a vendor partnership after I accused them of providing a bad batch, please let me know.

\- David

  


From: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Subject: Re: Contract Cancellation

To: info@roseapothecary.ca

Hi David,

I have some availability tomorrow if you want to bring the contract by. Say, 1:00, during your lunch? Happy to whip something up here for you.

Patrick Brewer  
Brewtani Business Consulting  
905-555-0605  
patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

  


From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: Re: Re: Contract Cancellation

To: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Patrick,

I will not be showing my face in public for 5-12 days, according to WebMD.

Happy to table the Rosebud Motel contracts until then, as I _obviously_ won't be talking to my father for a while, but if you have any ideas to help me apologize to Brenda, that would be great.

At this point, I'm willing to pay extra if you want to bill overtime or something.

\- David

  


From: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Contract Cancellation

To: info@roseapothecary.ca

Attached:  Sample Email.doc (21 MB)

Hi David,

Okay, I've attached an email draft for you to send to Brenda and would also maybe recommend taking her out for a business lunch in 5-12 days to apologize and explain the situation. Which, by the way, you still haven't told me about.

Don't worry about my fee. This one's on the house. Just maybe bring some of that tapenade when we go over the Rosebud contract.

Patrick Brewer  
Brewtani Business Consulting  
905-555-0605  
patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

  


From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Contract Cancellation

To: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Patrick,

Thanks so much.

\- David

  


From: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Contract Cancellation

To: info@roseapothecary.ca

Hi David,

I see you're still not telling me what's wrong.

That's fine. I need some more shampoo, so I was going to swing by the store later anyway.

Patrick Brewer  
Brewtani Business Consulting  
905-555-0605  
patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

  


From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Contract Cancellation

To: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Seriously, please don't.

  


From: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Contract Cancellation

To: info@roseapothecary.ca

See you soon, David!

Patrick Brewer  
Brewtani Business Consulting  
905-555-0605  
patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

  


From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: AUTOMATIC REPLY: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Contract Cancellation

To: patrick@brewtanibusinessconsultingandmore.ca

Rose Apothecary is closed until further notice. Please visit us online at roseapothecary.ca, and definitely not in the store for any reason.

  


\---

Patrick walks in that evening, 30 minutes before the store's 5 o'clock closing time, and immediately gets that pitying, sad look in his puppy dog eyes.

"Don't look at me," David snaps.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Patrick responds, keeping his eyes locked on David's face.

"What are you doing here? I told you we were closed."

Patrick shrugs, and sets about looking at the skincare labels. "Wanted to see if everything was okay." He says it like it's _easy_ , like he doesn't have decades of damage like David does, keeping him from admitting that he cares about anyone or anything other than himself. "So, poison oak?"

"Mhmm."

Patrick turns a bottle of toner over in his hand. "None of this stuff is gonna work on that, you know."

David glares at him. "Are you lecturing _me_ on skincare?"

Patrick laughs, his smile wide and open and honest. David likes him _so much_ and hates him even more. "No, I'm lecturing you on wilderness first aid. You need calamine lotion."

"Great, I will just swing by the Wilderness First Aid Emporium on my way back home through this sprawling metropolis."

"I have some, just come home with me."

That sentence puts ideas into David's head. David puts those ideas into the box. "Um, I won't be leaving for another hour."

"I'll close out the register if you want to take care of all this," he says, gesturing to the store in general. It's such a kind gesture, that David feels his eyes prickle.

"You don't have to do that," he says in a whisper.

"I want to," Patrick responds, genuinely.

David pulls his lips between his teeth and nods, not trusting himself to speak.

They close in relative, companionable silence, save for Patrick humming some vaguely familiar tune as he pulls the sales reports and counts the drawer. David briefly wonders how he knows that, until he remembers Patrick is the one who set it all up for him.

Before he knows it, Patrick is unlocking Ray's front door and nudging David to sit at the kitchen table while he runs upstairs to grab his first aid kit.

When he returns, he's taken off his blue button up and is dressed in a white tee and sweatpants and David has the inexplicable urge to fold himself into him and just _snuggle_.

"Sorry," Patrick tells him, an apologetic smile on his face. "This stuff can get messy."

"Mm, you should lay a towel down."

"What?"

He waves him off. "Nevermind. So how do I do this? It's lotion, right?"

Patrick glances at the bottle in his hands, then at David's sweater. "How much do you like that sweater?"

David's eyes shift down to the Dries Van Noten and he runs a hand absently over his stomach to smooth out any wrinkles. "I love this sweater."

"I figured," Patrick responds with a small smirk. "Then maybe I should...?" He gestures to David.

For some unknown reason, David nods.

He can't tear his eyes away from Patrick's thighs in those sweatpants as he crouches in front of him. He watches as Patrick shakes the bottle gently before tipping it over into the palm of one hand, creating a puddle of pink liquid, before he caps the bottle one-handedly and sets it down at David's feet.

David doesn't blink as Patrick dips his middle finger into the lotion and brings his hand to David's face, gently patting it in with the pad of his finger.

He's transfixed, watching Patrick's soft eyes sweep over his cheekbone, following his excruciatingly gentle fingers as they move across his skin.

The lotion is cooling and soothing, but David feels like he's on fire.

"This is gonna be cold for a second," Patrick warns apologetically before he purses his pink lips into a tight "o" and blows softly on his face.

David flinches from the intimacy more than from the pinpricks of cold blooming across his face.

"Sorry," Patrick says. "I gotta make sure the first layer is dry before I put more on."

"It's fine," David croaks, his voice cracking. Patrick's eyes shift back to his for a moment, as if he heard it, as if he knows why David is so deeply affected by the image of this man at his feet, by his fingers on his skin, by his lips so _fucking close_.

It's the worst thing David can imagine, Patrick knowing this. But he still can't bring himself to look away.

"Alright, ready for another?" Patrick asks, and it goes straight to David's dick. He won't even deny it this time. He's hit with the image of Patrick coating his fingers in lube instead of calamine, asking him if he's ready for more, of himself begging Patrick to give it to him, of Patrick following his command, his ruddy cheeks getting even redder with arousal, his whiskey eyes hooded as he looks at David through his lashes.

He wonders how Patrick looks when he comes. He's probably beautiful.

He's so fucking grateful for his skirted pants today.

"Yeah," David whispers. "I'm ready."

Patrick swallows and pats more calamine into his skin, agonizingly slow and gentle, and David can't shake the thought now. God, is this how he is in bed? Attentive and gentle and capable? All slow caresses and caring affection?

It's a good thing they're never going to fuck. David doesn't think he could survive that.

"Okay," Patrick whispers, his voice catching on something. He clears his throat and David watches his Adam's apple bob, straining against his nearly-translucent skin. _Fuck_. "That should do it."

Before David can prepare for the loss of him, Patrick is on his feet and washing his hands in the kitchen sink.

"Um—"

"You can take the bottle home," Patrik tells him. "I'll just, uh, avoid poison oak on tomorrow's hike."

David quirks his lip at him. "Do you not normally do that?"

Patrick just laughs. "Apply it twice a day. Avoid anything with fragrances. You should be fine."

" _Should_ be?!"

"You will be!"

David bites back a grin, but from the way Patrick looks amusedly at him, he thinks he fails at it. "Well, thank you, for this," he tells him, tipping the bottle in his direction.

"You're welcome."

David looks at him for another moment, enjoying the soft, pleased look on his face, before they both start speaking at the same time. "Well—"

"Do you want t—"

"Goodnight, Patri— wait, what were you going to say?"

Patrick shakes his head. "Nothing, nothing. Have a good night, David."

David feels Patrick's eyes on him the whole walk home. He doesn't know when it shifted from annoying to sweet, but he hates it all the same.

As he slides into bed that evening, careful not to get the calamine lotion on his pillowcase, it clicks. The song Patrick was humming as he closed down the register. It was his slowed-down arrangement of "Fantasy."

He really cannot wait for Singles Week. It's time to shift his focus onto attainable people and maybe fuck Patrick Brewer out his system once and for all.

\---

The musical chairs game Alexis created after their mother failed to show up with the locks was _brutal_.

David got paired up with Twyla, _thrice_. Then, before he had even settled into his chair one round, Robin propositioned him with a quickie in the restroom.

It didn't help that Patrick was hovering nearby but not participating.

And it _really_ didn't help when, just as the game was wrapping up and Alexis was outlining tomorrow's plan before they broke for drinks, Ted rushed in and professed his undying love and they decided to just _flaunt_ their happiness by making out in front of a room full of lonely singles.

So yeah, David was leaning against the counter with Stevie after, getting _thoroughly_ drunk and watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye.

And Patrick is talking to some hottie with cheap glasses and an even cheaper polo and a million-dollar smile.

"Ugh," he grunts. "Can't Patrick like, stay in his own lane?"

Stevie glances over, before turning back to David with a shit-eating grin. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are _dozens_ of single women here for him to flirt with, and only a handful of queer men, and poor Ben over there has been eyeing this little hottie-boom-body for the last hour, and Patrick can't stop being obnoxiously friendly for five seconds so he can shoot his shot."

Stevie just looks at him. "Why would Patrick want to flirt with women when that guy is so clearly into him?"

"Because Patrick is straight."

"Patrick isn't straight."

"He is, though."

"He _isn't_ , though."

"He is!" He won't accept this.

"Did he _tell_ you that?" she asks.

"No, he didn't have to! H-his ex-fiancée came to win him back!"

She just blinks.

"And he... he's never..."

"Oh my god, David," she says, delightedly, her eyes going wide.

"No!"

But the dam has broken and she is laughing at him heartily. "Do you think he's straight because he never _hit on you_?"

"No! No, I just..."

"Oh, you are _such_ a self-centered asshole," she says with a laugh.

"No, no!" He takes a deep breath. "I'm just... I'm _easy_ , okay? I'm a known _sure thing_. And it's not like I haven't—" He clamps his mouth shut. He's not going to tell Stevie how he flirted with Patrick when they met, or while unpacking the store, or when Rachel was standing right the fuck behind him, or that whole thing in Ray's kitchen last week with the calamine lotion, or literally every single time he's spoken to him.

"Maybe he just doesn't want to fuck you."

"Everyone just wants to fuck me," he says, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

She looks at him in that disbelieving way of hers, like she can see right through him. He hates it. "Well, maybe he doesn't want to _just_ fuck you."

"Unlikely," he jokes flatly, taking a sip of his drink.

She smirks at him. "So all Patrick had to do was flirt with you and you'd, what, hook up with him? Date him? _Go steady_?"

"Okay, that's enough out of you," he tells her, shoving a finger in her face.

She just shakes her head. "Okay, well, Patrick is gay, and _you_ are an idiot."

Which, what the fuck does _that_ mean?

\---

Alexis stays at Ted's that night, so for the first time in months, David allows himself to open that "Patrick" box in his mind and he examines things through a new lens.

A lens where Patrick is interested in men. Where maybe all that friendly banter between them was flirting. Where maybe Patrick's inexplicable ability to constantly be in David's space was intentional.

A lens where maybe he _could_ get his mouth on that pale throat of his, or get his hands in the back pockets of those skintight jeans — though that one is unlikely, he doesn't see how there could be _room_.

And yeah, he shoves his hand into his sleep joggers and makes himself come at the thought of it, but at least he'll never have to admit it to anyone.

And when he falls asleep thinking about a world where his pillow is Patrick's firm, broad chest, he blames it on a _thorough_ reexamination of his every interaction with the man and a pretty decent orgasm.

\---

"Okay, everyone! So as a reminder, this evening's activity is a wine tasting that Herb Ertlinger is hosting. We will be providing transportation, with pickup and drop-off locations at both the Rosebud Motel and here at the Café Tropical," Alexis states, checking off items on her clipboard. "So anyway, after brunch, there will be a break in activities, though we have provided a list of local recommendations if anyone would like to explore the area a bit."

She looks happy. And David is happy for her, he really is.

He's just... also a little self-pitying and lonely.

"Hey," he hears Patrick's voice behind him, but before he can turn, he's dropping into the booth across from him.

"Hey, um..." What was Patrick doing? They were supposed to be mingling.

But Patrick just opens the menu. "You know, I've never actually eaten breakfast here. Although, Alexis did say it was brunch, so maybe we could get the mozzarella sticks again."

"Um."

Patrick just keeps looking at the menu.

"Why didn't you tell me you're gay?" _What the_ fuck _, David?!_

Patrick seems to agree, as his head pops up, his eyes wide. "I-I thought you knew?"

"No, no I did not."

He grimaces a bit. "Oh. Well, um. I am."

"So what are you doing _here_?"

"I'm having brunch. Or, I will be, if George can ever make it over here to take our order. This event is a bigger draw than I thought."

David rolls his eyes. "I mean what are you doing _here_. At my table."

Patrick blinks at him, his puppy eyes sparkling with mischief. David hates that it makes his stomach flip. "I'm having brunch," he repeats, slower and with more emphasis.

"Okay, but there's like, a handful of really solid options for you, so I just don't see why you're wasting time with me."

He watches Patrick's expression shift to something a little unreadable, and his jaw clenches, the muscle there jumping a bit. David wants to _lick_ it. "Well, honestly, I just wanted to have brunch with a friendly face. But if I'm cramping your style—"

"Oh, no, no no no no no," David laughs. "No. No one here is, um..." He sighs. "No one has, um, approached me yet. There's a _lot_ of options, and I guess I'm just..."

Patrick tilts his head like this concept is absolutely blowing his mind. "Huh."

"'Huh?' What 'huh?'"

He shrugs. "Nothing, I just think that maybe hanging out with Stevie all night yesterday and giving everyone your best 'I'm judging you' face maybe put them off a bit."

"So you're, what, helping me out? Making me look more approachable?"

Patrick blinks at him again. It's unnerving. "Sure."

David is about to ask what the fuck that means, but George walks up to take their order, and when he leaves, Patrick changes the subject. "So, has Singles Week been good for the store?"

David launches into a detailed description of every product he got in, just to watch Patrick's ears go pink when he talks about the scented massage oil. He definitely doesn't lose his train of thought when the flush spreads down his neck and below the collar of his truly deliciously-fitting henley when David talks about the expanded flavored lube options he brought in for the event.

"Well," Patrick says as his plate is dropped unceremoniously in front of him and George walks away without even a grunt of acknowledgement. "Personally, I think the mango should be a permanent offering."

His brain short-circuits. "You've tried it?"

Patrick just shrugs.

David sputters. "B— wha..."

"Why, which one is your favorite?"

 _Holy fuck_. "Um, I like the peach."

"Good to know."

David just gapes at him.

"Your eggs are getting cold, David."

And yeah, Patrick is surprising, and he's hot as hell, and he's funny and nice and charming and talented and brilliant and maybe flirting and David just wants to keep looking at him, but he's also right.

So he digs into his breakfast.

\---

David doesn't let himself think about how Patrick walked him to the store after brunch.

He doesn't let himself think about how Patrick grabbed a bottle of the mango lube, before asking him to "throw in a bottle of the peach, too" with that brilliant smile of his.

And he really doesn't think about who will be tasting it on Patrick's skin and fantasize about murdering the faceless man.

And this thought definitely doesn't haunt him when he closes up and heads to the motel to change for the wine tasting.

He might need to build a better box in his mind, if he's going to survive this. Maybe one that automatically closes. He thinks he left it open too long last night.

Actually, he might need to consider a lobotomy at this point.

\---

David forces Stevie to sit with him on the bus, but she disappears the second they enter the winery.

Traitor.

A moment later, Patrick is at his elbow, reading from a pamphlet on their offerings.

"This sounds..."

"Horrible?" David offers.

"I was going to say 'interesting,' but I think you might be right."

Patrick smiles at him, but he tamps down the instinct to smile back.

Before he can reply, a tasting tray, along with cheese and crackers, is placed in front of them.

"Shall we?" Patrick asks, gesturing toward the first wine, a disturbing shade of violet.

"What the fuck is this?"

Patrick glances back at his pamphlet. "Blueberry açai, apparently."

David considers the tray for a moment, before leaning over Patrick's shoulder to read the pamphlet.

It's a mistake. He can smell Patrick's spicy (cheap) cologne, mixed with the grapefruit scent of the pomade he sells at the store, and he wants to _devour_ him. He's sure Patrick would taste better than any of these wines.

He hears Patrick swallow and realizes he is _far_ too close.

"So," he says, shaking his head clear. "I think we should start from the right, actually? It's the most subtle flavor."

Patrick keeps his eyes on the pamphlet. "The banana? Are you sure?"

David grimaces. "If there is a god, she will make sure the banana is more subtle than the blueberry açai."

Patrick grins and lifts his head. David's heart stutters at the eye contact. "You can have first sip."

"And what will you be drinking?" he jokes as he lifts the glass to his lips. The smell makes him pause, and he makes a truly undignified gagging sound when the wine hits his tongue. "Oh my _god_ , no, no no no no no, I definitely don't want these all to myself."

Patrick takes a sip and David watches, rapt, as his mouth twists into a shape he's never seen on his beautiful face before. "Oh..." he trails off, seemingly unable to come up with a word for it.

They take smaller sips of the next wine, a "raspberry" that tastes so much like tomato and vinegar that David thinks it was made with ketchup.

By the time they make it to the blueberry açai, they're still far too sober.

"Okay, okay," Patrick starts in his take-charge voice once they make it through the tasting options. "Palette cleanser, then we try making blends."

He places some cheese on a cracker and lifts it to David's lips.

And David must be drunker than he thought, because he wraps his lips around it, his tongue flicking out, and his teeth graze Patrick's fingertips.

It's the single hottest moment of his entire life.

Until he returns the favor, and Patrick catches his fingers with his lips, and it takes all of his self-control not to bend him over this bar and fuck him right here in front of half the county.

"So," Patrick starts, his voice more even than David could ever hope to make his own at the moment. "What first? Strawberry banana?"

They mix a few glasses and try again. It doesn't make the wines any better.

Once they toss back sips of the passionfruit lemon blend, their server is back with a smaller tray.

"These are our sweet wines," she starts, and David and Patrick share a look. Considering how cloying the wines they just had were — even the lemon — he's not sure how much sweeter these could be. "Here we have pineapple, lychee, and our best-sellers, mango and peach."

David _hates_ that he's looking at Patrick when she says it.

He hates that Patrick smirks and quirks a nonexistent eyebrow at him.

He hates that he wants to suggest that they leave and just go enjoy _other_ mango and peach flavored items together. Alone. Maybe in a king-sized bed somewhere.

Still, neither one of them can mention that it's awkward without mentioning _why_ it's awkward, so they make their way through the tray in silence, until Patrick decides to ruin David's life with a, "What if we make a mango-peach blend? I'm sure they'll taste great together."

David chokes on nothing, and Patrick hands him the glass of pineapple wine to wash it down, though it doesn't help.

In the end, they do try the mango-peach, and it's disgusting.

David tries not to read into it, but he excuses himself to the restroom as they're getting ready to leave, and dallies long enough to be the last one on.

He may have to spend the ride sitting next to Robin and her unnerving eye contact, but it's a small price to pay to avoid the heat of Patrick's gaze.

And when he gets off the bus at the motel, he forgets for a moment that Patrick lives next door at Ray's, until Patrick offers him a small wave and a wide grin that makes the butterflies in his stomach go wild.

He blames it on the wine.

\---

The next night, David walks into the mixer at the Wobbly Elm over an hour late.

In his defense, Roland had come in and just used the foot cream tester right there on the sales floor, and walked out without buying one, so David had to sanitize half the store. Then he had to go back to the motel and change because his work sweater was not appropriate for a singles mixer.

He didn't consider that the bar would be so much more crowded than usual when he pulled on his leather jacket on his way out.

He beelines for the bar, and accidentally bumps against someone when they turn around, drinks in hand.

David makes an undignified noise as he narrowly avoids getting cheap margarita mix on his Rick Owens sneakers, and when he glances up and sees Ken with the margarita in one hand and a bottle of Patrick's favorite beer in the other, he wishes he'd bumped into him harder.

Ken just smiles in polite apology, and David glances ahead of him, his eyes locking with Patrick's.

Patrick offers a small smile and a wave, and David feels his stomach sink.

This is stupid. He has his absolute pick of single people from the greater Elms, and he is focused on his business-consultant-slash-neighbor-slash-friend.

Stevie was right. He _is_ an idiot.

And speaking of...

He glances around for a moment, before spotting her, push-up bra clearly doing its job under her black tank top, her leather jacket thrown over the back of a chair, flirting heavily with a guy he's never seen before. And judging by the _cowboy boots_ he's wearing, David wishes he still hadn't.

He sips his drink and people-watches for a bit, and spends a few minutes chatting with a beautiful (but dull) blonde with incredible thighs peeking out from under her miniskirt and deep amber eyes, and for a moment, he thinks he could do it. He thinks he could take her home and fuck her. He imagines her riding him, he imagines her on her hands and knees, he imagines his face buried between her legs. But none of those fantasies do it for him. She's just...

She's not _nice_. Or funny, or witty, or sharp, or sarcastic.

David suddenly wants to kill Patrick for ruining him. And Stevie, for making him realize that this is a _crush_ and not just a friendly relationship with his business consultant that he's insanely attracted to.

So he doesn't save her seat when she excuses herself to the restroom, and he orders another drink. And a shot.

And just as he lifts the glass to his lips, he feels an unmistakably wide palm clap down on his shoulder.

"Come here often?" Patrick jokes as he drops onto the stool next to him.

"Actually, yes," David says before taking the shot. "It's the only bar in town."

Patrick laughs. "Fair enough."

David watches him lift his beer to his lips and he's irrationally jealous of the bottle.

"So," Patrick starts. "What was wrong with her?"

"Hmm?"

He nods subtly toward the bathroom. "The woman you were just talking to. She's... objectively attractive, I mean, if you're into women. Which, to be clear, I'm not," he says with a wink. "I'm trying to figure out what the problem was. Did she tell you she uses drugstore shampoo? Or did you name-drop a designer and she asked if they were a friend of yours?"

David glares at him. "No, both of those were you. That day you helped me set up the store." He cringes. He's said too much.

"Ah, that's right, that _was_ me," Patrick teases with a smile.

He sighs. "She was just... not it, you know?" _She wasn't_ you _,_ he thinks.

"Oh, I know," Patrick says with a sad smirk before he looks away. "What about them?" he asks, nodding toward a person at the pool table, currently flirting with Twyla.

"They're into Twyla."

"Or him?" he gestures his beer bottle toward an objectively good-looking gentleman in a tight, short-sleeved grey button-up, the too-short-to-be-long-but-too-long-to-be-short sleeves hugging his impressive arms deliciously, his curly auburn hair long on top but shorn short on the sides in a well-maintained undercut, tight jeans cuffed atop a pair of brown dress shoes.

He looks like alternate-universe out-and-proud Patrick, and David can see why Patrick would be into him. Lord knows he's fucked a lot of people that remind him of himself, but hotter.

Not that this guy is hotter than Patrick. David doesn't know if there _is_ anyone hotter than Patrick. Not now that he knows him, that he knows how it feels to be on the receiving end of his teasing smirks and gleeful smiles and sparkling eyes. How those smirks and smiles and eyes of his light up his beautiful face.

 _God_ he's so fucked.

David just shrugs. "He's fine, I guess."

"You haven't talked to him yet?"

"Have you?"

Patrick's ears go pink. "Uh, no, no, I've um. I've been occupied, so far."

David thinks about brunch, and the wine tasting, and now this mixer, and he says, "You should talk to him. If you want."

Patrick quirks a smile at him. "Maybe after this beer."

\---

Patrick didn't end up talking to his alter-ego.

No, he stayed at the bar with David all night and kept him company, offering brilliant, wide grins and bashful glances when David teased him and David _aches_.

It doesn't help that Patrick walks into the store the next day with a reuben and fries and a caramel macchiato (and yeah they don't go together but they're David's favorites so he just about melts) and an easy, "You mentioned yesterday how busy the store is this week, so I'll watch the floor so you can take a lunch."

And it _really_ doesn't help when Patrick sticks around after the lunch rush and helps David reface the product and replenish stock.

And when Patrick leaves with a too-casual, "I'll see you tonight, David," David wants to hop out of his skin for some reason.

\---

David has no desire to go bowling.

He takes umbrage with putting borrowed shoes on his feet, and he has a clinical aversion to sticking his meticulously-manicured fingers into grimy holes.

Not when there is a plethora of delightful holes he could choose from.

Still, Patrick had looked at him with those wide eyes of his and said "I'll see you tonight," and David doesn't want to turn him into a liar, so he walks through the door as if he belongs here. Even though he _clearly_ doesn't.

He spots Stevie lounging against — what else — the bar, and strides over to her.

"Oh my god, I can't believe you're doing this one, you said last week that you'd 'rather stick your head in a meat grinder,'" she says gleefully.

"I don't think I said _that_ —"

"This doesn't have anything to do with a certain not-so-straight-after-all neighbor of yours, does it, David?" she asks, her voice full of faux-innocence.

"Patrick has just been keeping me company, since no one seems to want to talk to me at these things. He's being a good friend."

Stevie stares at him.

"What?!"

"You're an absolute fucking idiot," she says, shaking her head. "Maybe people don't want to talk to you because you've spent every single event _gazing_ into Patrick's eyes."

"Okay, _fine_ , I... don't hate spending time with him."

She smirks. "Was that _painful_ , showing such a deep well of emotion?"

He narrows his eyes at her. "Funny," he deadpans, before ordering a drink now that the bartender has made her way over. "Besides, he's just being a good friend. He's not into me."

Stevie just tosses back the rest of her drink and signals for a refill.

"So, do you want to be on my team?" he asks her, gesturing toward the lanes.

"Oh, no, see, I'm trying to get laid. I don't want to waste my night hanging out with my _good pal, David_ ," she quips.

"David, hey!" Stevie snorts when he whips around to face Patrick, as if he couldn't go a second without looking at him now that he's nearby. "Do you want to team up, see if we can scrounge up a few more people?" Stevie appears to choke on her drink. "Oh, hey, Stevie. Wanna join us?

She laughs. "No, I'm trying to actually get my registration fee's worth out of this week. You two have fun though!" She glares pointedly at David before stepping away, whisking herself off to find some willing participant who won't know what hit them once she gets their clothes off.

David turns back to Patrick. "So, teammates?" Patrick asks, his Disney Princess eyes wide and hopeful.

David tries to hold back the smile threatening to become a full-blown grin when he replies, "Sure."

\---

Somewhere during the first game, it occurs to David that Ken is trying to chat up Patrick.

Like... really trying. Like, harder than someone with his glowing skin and tight body and million dollar smile should _have_ to try.

When David gets up to throw the ball (right into the gutter) during the sixth frame, he sees Ken stretch his arm along the back of Patrick's seat, turning toward him.

It sends a pleased spark of self-satisfaction up his spine to notice that Patrick is keeping his head toward the lane, encouraging David.

"You got this, David, just aim for the pins."

"Yeah, I understand, Patrick, I'm just bad at it."

He throws the ball... right into the gutter. As expected.

"So," he hears Ken say as David waits at the ball return. "Where are you from again, Patrick?"

David stares straight into the abyss, waiting for his ball. What is _taking_ so long?

"Hm? Oh, uh, outside of Winnipeg."

"Do you get to go home often?"

"Not really, but I haven't been here long," he hears Patrick tell him. He sounds distracted.

"How long have you been here?"

"Uh... I moved here in... May? Yeah, May."

David's ball _finally_ pops out, and he grabs it immediately, suddenly anxious to return to his seat and for Ken's turn to start.

"Oh, that's a decent chunk of time. You like it here, then?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's uh, it's great," David hears behind him as he squares up.

He tosses the ball and it manages to stay in the lane and takes three pins down with it.

He hears Patrick whoop and clap behind him, and when he turns around, Patrick is already right there and wrapping his arms around him in a very sportsmanlike hug.

"Okay, okay, it was only three of the things, this is just condescending."

Patrick pulls back with a grin, his hands still clasped on David's arms, and David wants to live in this moment for... well, for forever, but that seems ridiculous.

But certainly longer than he does get to, when Ken sidles up and grabs his ball with a strained smile.

He chugs down the rest of his drink as Ken bowls (another, ugh) strike. When he returns to his seat on the other side of Patrick, Stevie's words about actually wanting to hook up with someone echo in his mind.

So he excuses himself to the bar, and gives Patrick some time with Ken, even though it feels like he's wading through quicksand to step away.

Once at the bar, he orders a shot and a drink, and remembering how low Patrick's beer was, he orders one for him, too. As he waits, he glances around and sees Stevie, openly flirting with Twyla, which... makes sense, actually.

He glances back toward his own lane, and he watches Ken rest a hand on Patrick's arm and laugh, and he sees Patrick smile in return, and David leans over the bar and tells the bartender that he'll just take the shot, actually.

And once that's down, he steps outside and does something he never thought he would do — he pulls up Uber and requests a ride from Ray.

\---

David's been staring at the same page of a thriller he honestly can't remember the title of for the better part of an hour when there's a knock on his door.

He sighs, setting his book aside, and opens it to see — "Patrick?"

"Hey," Patrick says, stepping inside without an invitation. "Ray said you called him for a ride, are you okay?"

It occurs to David that Patrick's never been in here, and he suddenly feels naked, in his dingy motel room with his twin bed. "Yeah, I just, um, I wanted to leave."

"I would've given you a ride back, you didn't need to—"

"It's fine."

For a second, it looks like Patrick wants to fight, wants to push him about what really happened, but then he sighs. "Okay. Okay, as long as you're okay."

That sentence kneecaps David.

When was the last time someone cared that he was okay? He can't remember.

He clears his throat. "Yeah, um, I'm uh, I'm okay."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Patrick stands there for another moment, before he claps his hands on his thighs and turns toward the door. "Okay," he says, turning the handle. "I'll see you tomorrow, David."

"Okay," David croaks out. The word has lost all meaning at this point.

A moment later, the room is silent but for the echo of the door closing, and David watches Patrick cross the parking lot to Ray's.

\---

David isn't even surprised when Patrick walks into the store the next day to cover his lunch break and offers to take him to the event at the drive-in that night.

What does surprise him is when he tells Patrick that he's going to skip this one, actually. "Yeah, it's a bit too, um, one-on-one? I don't really have anyone to go with, so..."

Patrick cocks his head, leaning casually against the sweater table where he was helping David refold. "I just offered to go with you."

It makes David's heart rate pick up. "Yeah, but I mean, like, I don't have anyone to _really_ go with, you know? Like, as a date?"

Patrick breaks eye contact and nods once.

"Besides, you should go with someone you actually want to take to the drive-in. What about Ken? He seems into you."

Patrick swallows. "Yeah, yeah, uh, maybe. Hey, um, I gotta head back, I have an appointment with Bob in half an hour to start his quarterly taxes, you gonna be okay here?"

"Yeah, it's _my_ store, Patrick."

"Right, right. Um. I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," David whispers as he watches Patrick leave without another word.

A half an hour later, he spots Bob working under the hood of a minivan outside his garage, where he stays for the remainder of the day. He never goes to Ray's.

David is tempted to text Patrick to tattle, but then he realizes that it was likely just an excuse to get David to stop using him for free labor, and he lets it go.

\---

At 8:17 PM, there's a knock on his door and he already knows it's Patick.

"Hi," he says as he leans against the doorframe, blocking Patrick from walking in like he had the night before.

"Hey, so, um, it was too late to find someone to go to the drive-in with. Do you want to come over and watch a movie? Your choice."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why are you inviting me over?"

Patrick blinks at him. "Because I'm bored and Ray is at the drive-in with a woman he met at bowling last night and I'm pretty sure Stevie is there with Twyla, so I know you aren't busy."

"Ah, yes, find the saddest, most unattached person in town to keep you distracted from potentially coming out of Singles Week still very much single? I get it, honestly."

Patrick shakes out his fists lightly. "So do you want to drink Ray's wine and eat popcorn?"

David considers it for a moment. "Sure, why not."

"Great."

David stands there for a moment. "Well, I will meet you there, because I clearly need to change," he says, gesturing to his joggers and sleep tee.

"Why?"

David can't exactly say that he doesn't want to wear pajamas while he pretends this is maybe a date, so he just rolls his eyes and grabs his sneakers. "Fine, but I can't wear my house Uggs outside, they'll get filthy and that will destroy their entire purpose."

"Okay, David."

Patrick watches in amusement as David ties on his sneakers, then he falls into step behind David as they walk to Ray's.

And the whole thing is absolutely horrible.

Watching Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves fall in love from his place under a blanket with Patrick, Patrick's thigh pressed against his, their hands occasionally brushing against each other's in the popcorn bowl, Patrick's arm casually thrown over the back of the sofa behind David, his lips subtly wine-stained, and those big, devastating eyes boring into David's as Patrick offers to walk him home, those eyes even bigger and more devastating as he whispers goodnight to David under the sodium lights of the motel parking lot are all so fucking horrible that David cries in the shower before sliding between his sheets and wrapping his arms tightly around himself, imaging they're someone else's, holding him close.

\---

The bell over the door chimes at five after noon, and David knows it's Patrick before he even looks up.

"The café was out of rye, so I had them make your reuben with white bread."

David's head snaps up. "You _what_?!"

Patrick cracks a smile. "I'm kidding."

"Oh thank god."

"They _were_ out of rye, though, so I got you a burger. Tomato between the lettuce and the patty, right?"

David has to remind himself to breathe. Patrick _remembers_ that? "Um. Yeah, yeah. Yes. That's... that's correct."

"Okay, well," Patrick drops the bag on the counter and shoves his hands into his pockets. "Go, eat, I'll, um... I'll let you know if anyone asks any complicated skincare questions."

By the time David is finished with his burger and completed a five-minute relaxation exercise in his meditation app, he pops a mint (nothing to do with Patrick, of course, he's trying to sell to his customers, he needs to make sure his breath is fresh) and heads back to the sales floor.

"You still have 20 minutes left on your break," Patrick tells him.

David rolls his eyes. "Okay, you know that you're not my boss, right? You don't even work here."

Patrick laughs lightly and bashfully looks at his feet and David wants to _die_ he's so fucking cute.

"About that..." Patrick starts.

David just raises an eyebrow.

"Do you, um... do you remember that day that I came here and offered to help with the grants?"

He seems nervous, and David is suddenly transported back to that moment, standing in this same spot against the counter, facing Patrick and all of his devastating earnestness, trying to convince himself he wasn't developing a crush on his consultant. "Um, yes, yeah, of course I do. W-why? What's...?"

"I was going to ask to come on. As a partner."

 _What?_ "What?" _What does he mean?_ "What do you mean?"

Patrick's lips quirk at one corner in the way that David now knows means that he's nervous to say what he's about to say and holy _shit_ , when did he memorize Patrick's face like this? "I was going to, um... to offer to fill out the applications in exchange for a salary. Here. _Not_ my consulting fee."

"You... you wanted to go into business with me?" He's so confused. "Why?"

Patrick's eyes go soft around the corners, and alarms sound in David's head. "This store is... _God_ , David, you really did something, here." He feels like he can't breathe. "This place is... it's incredible. It's just so... so _you_ , you know?"

No, he _doesn't_ know! What does that _mean_?!

"Well," David starts, keeping his voice even. "If the offer still stands, I would... be open to that."

Patrick's spine straightens a bit, and his eyes light up, and his grin widens and David thinks that if Patrick let him, he could spend the rest of his life putting that look on his face. "Really?"

"Yeah."

Patrick just nods. "Well. Alright then. Um... I'm just gonna... go, um... r-restock the..." He trails off, and wanders toward the massage oil candles. David watches him go, because of course he does — those jeans are criminal in more ways than one.

They work in relative silence for the remainder of the afternoon. A large group of day-drunk singles come in around 1 o'clock and buy expensive wine and cheese. A younger man David doesn't recognize comes in and awkwardly glances around until the woman shopping for the best toner for her skin type leaves, before asking Patrick for some condoms. David loves the way Patrick flushes down his neck at the request, but confidently goes over the different types they stock.

 _They_. Because Patrick is involved in this, now.

And when there's a lull in the traffic, they chat about anything and everything, and Patrick asks if David is excited for Singles Prom that night.

And David's entire world has tilted on its axis over the last day, so he responds honestly with, "I am definitely more excited than I was for my actual prom, considering I was too embarrassed to go alone so I skipped it."

Patrick's eyes practically bulge out of his head. "You didn't go to your prom?"

"I didn't go to any dances."

"Why not?!"

David shrugs and absently faces the already-faced bottles of body milk. "All the single people went in groups with their friends and I didn't have any of those, so..."

Patrick offers him a soft smile. "Well, hopefully tonight goes a bit better for you."

"Mm, can't imagine it'd be worse, so."

Patrick chuckles. "Alright, well, I um, I gotta head back to Ray's, but I'll see you tonight?"

"Yes, yeah, I'll see you there."

\---

David is just tucking his chain under the collar of his shirt when there's a knock at the door.

But when he opens it, he's immediately assaulted by a wide, white poster board, "PROM?" written hastily in hand-drawn block-letters using what is _clearly_ cheap magic markers.

He poster drops and David doesn't have a chance to school his expression before he sees Patrick's wide grin.

"What is all this?"

Patrick's grin somehow widens as he pulls his other arm out from behind his back, a truly heinous orange carnation corsage in hand. David can't hide his cringe. "Yeah, sorry, this was the best the florist could do on short notice, and I had to beg Ronnie to convince her to stay late to make it."

David clears his throat to dislodge the lump he feels building. "You... you asked Ronnie? She hates you."

Patrick just shrugs. "You said you didn't get to go to any dances in high school, so... I wanted to make sure you got the full experience." Patrick gestures behind him toward the limousine idling in the parking lot. It's rusted and dated and the Lincoln might actually be bigger, but right now, David thinks it's the most impressive limo he's ever seen. And one time, he hooked up with Richard Madden in his limo at the People's Choice Awards.

He gapes for a moment. He said that only a couple hours ago. Patrick somehow organized this all since _lunch_?

"I know, I know, it's not terribly impressive. The limo has been sitting in Bob's Garage for months, but I vacuumed it and wiped down the seats and then drove it to Elmdale and back with the windows down so it _should_ be aired out. And I'm sorry about the corsage, I figured you didn't want to put pin holes in your lapel with a boutonniere, but all she had left were the orange carnations and—"

"Patrick," David interrupts, softly. "This is perfect. Thank you."

He watches, rapt, as Patrick blushes. "You're welcome, David."

It's a Big Moment. David can feel it. He knows, without a doubt, that Patrick is incredibly important to him. He thinks he could very quickly get used to the attention he's received from him this week, he can imagine months and months of sweet dates and soft smiles until Patrick inevitably figures out David is a mess and he can have someone like Ken, and will leave David shattered in his wake.

So he lets the moment pass, and pulls the evening firmly back into the 'let's go to prom together as friends' zone with a joking, "So, who's driving the limo?"

Patrick smirks at him. "Bob. But he came cheap, so it's all good."

David just nods.

"So," Patrick asks, holding the sign back up in front of his body. "Will you go to the prom with me, David?"

"I mean, you _did_ get me the ugliest corsage known to man and you're not even wearing a tuxedo..."

Patrick glances down at his navy blue suit and decidedly business-y striped tie. "It was either this or my sport coat and khakis, David."

David grimaces. "Okay, okay, then I suppose this," he gestures toward Patrick's (perfect) body, "is acceptable."

"So is that a yes? Because Bob is idling out there and global warming is real."

"It's a yes."

Patrick grins, and waits for David to grab his wallet, phone and keys, before striding ahead toward the limo and opening the door for him.

Once inside, he pulls David's left arm to lay across his (strong, holy _fuck_ ) thighs as he gently slips the corsage over his wrist. His hand lingers over David's for a moment after, his thumb delicately tracing mindless patterns over the inside of his wrist, sending goosebumps up David's arm as Patrick's fingers ghost across the back of his hand. He wonders if Patrick can feel his pulse beating away rapidly beneath the thin skin under his gentle touch. Patrick inches his thumb up, under the cuff of David's sleeve, before dragging the pad of his thumb featherlight back down his forearm, across the elastic encircling his wrist, over the heel of his hand, to press gently into his palm, the tips of his fingers resting gently against his knuckles, four points of molten contact, as he cradles David's hand in his.

Patrick glances up and meets David's eyes, and for a moment, he's _floored_ by the genuine care and affection he sees there.

Patrick's mouth drops open and David hears him take a small breath in, and he can't _move_ , he's pinned by Patrick's gaze.

He's so fucking _fucked_.

"Dav—"

"Sorry about the partition," Bob yells, too loudly for the small space, even if it weren't for the intimate bubble David and Patrick were just in. "Haven't gotten around to fixing it yet." Patrick drops David's hand and he thinks he hears him curse under his breath, but that could just be the whistle from the broken air conditioning vent. "But once I do, Ray said he's going to buy it to start his limo rental business, which I think is great news for him."

David just stares at the side of Patrick's face, Patrick's eyes fixed straight ahead. Neither of them says a word.

"Patrick, you know business, do you think Ray's limo rental has legs? Or, wheels," Bob laughs at his own joke. "Though I don't know where he'll park it. Hey, maybe Stevie can loan him some space at the motel? It's a big parking lot and it's never full..."

Patrick's head drops back against the headrest before he glances over at David, a friendly, easy smile on his face.

Fucking Bob.

\---

Patrick hasn't left David's side all night. And while he's not exactly _complaining_ , he doesn't understand it. Patrick is hot. And funny and charming and kind and smart. So why doesn't he just mingle already?

Still, it's a nice do-over for him. A marked improvement from going to after parties alone with a pocket full of pills to coerce people into at least pretending to be his friend for the evening and feigning disinterest in the dances themselves.

Yes, Patrick's warm hand at the small of his back as he passes him a glass of punch, their fingers brushing for a brief, electric moment in the Schitt's Creek High School gymnasium, is _much_ better than taking molly with teen models at some prom after party that he crashed in the penthouse of some swanky hotel he doesn't even remember.

Patrick's face is relaxed, his expression open and warm, his eyes dancing with something that David thinks is fondness, and he wants to kiss him so badly, but they're milling about, talking to people they know, and for a moment, they feel like a real couple. A unit. David-and-Patrick. It makes David's stomach warm, though that may be the generous amount of whiskey in the punch.

He spots Stevie in a suit that is tailored to perfection on her petite frame, arm-in-arm with Twyla, and he desperately wants to tease her for it, but Patrick isn't letting him out of his sight and he's terrified of what she'll say back to him. He can't have this conversation in front of Patrick and come out of it with his dignity intact.

So he does what he always does, and he self-sabotages. "You should go, mingle with the singles or whatever."

Patrick pulls back slightly, his palm sliding across the small of David's back where it had been resting, and David can't figure out his expression. He looks sad, hurt, angry, and shocked all at once. He doesn't like it on Patrick's face. "What?"

David waves a hand, as if that'll help him explain himself right now. "I'm just saying... it's a dance. You should go be with someone you want to dance with."

"You don't think I want to dance with you?"

"Of course not, I'm an excellent dancer, that's not what I'm saying—"

"So what _are_ you saying, David?" It sounds sharp. David doesn't like that, either.

He waves his hand again, this time toward the dance floor, where most of the singles have coupled off to gyrate inelegantly against each other like true highschoolers. "I'm saying you should go find someone you actually want to be with!"

Patrick finally drops his hand, and David has to physically suppress a shiver at how cold he feels without its warmth against him. "David," he says, his voice choked, "what do you think I've been doing all week? No, _fuck_ , all _year_?! Desperately trying to—" He shakes his head, and takes a step back. David wants to pull him back in. "I'm sorry. You've made it clear you aren't interested and I've been chasing you like—"

"What?" Patrick is... He...?

"—it's manipulative and wrong, and I—"

"What?" he repeats.

"—just really embarrassed, now, you're just so—"

"Patrick!" David nearly shouts, and he finally stops his stream-of-consciousness... apology? Is that what that was? "What the fuck are you saying?"

Patrick takes a deep breath and draws himself up a little taller, as if pouring every ounce of his too-attractive confidence into this. "I'm saying that I've been trying to ask you out since we met. I'm saying that I like you, _so_ much, and I'm sorry for pushing it. This week just seemed like a good way to convince you that we could..." He puts a hand out, gesturing between them, and David just wants to hold it, to lace his fingers through his, but he's frozen. "But it was unfair of me to monopolize your time like that. Forcing you to date me this week was manipulative and I'm sorry. I got in my own head about it. It's _fine_ that you don't like me back. I still want to be your friend, David."

"I don't want to be your friend," David responds, like a fucking idiot.

Patrick's face _crumples_.

"No! _No_ , no. I mean, I— can we go back to that part where you said you like me? I liked that part."

"David," Patrick says, his voice thick with an emotion David could never imagine himself tapping into, "that's not—"

He shakes his head. "I want to revisit the part where you said you've been trying to ask me out." He swallows, forcing himself to say this. "I would... I would've said yes."

Patrick's lips quirk into a small, almost-hopeful smile and oh, _god_ , he's so beautiful, David is so fucked. "Really?"

He nods. "Of course. I, um. I like you, too," David confesses, swallowing down the instinctual fear at admitting that.

Patrick's soft smile becomes a face-splitting grin, and David wonders if it hurts. "Well, that's, um. That's good to know." He glances down at his feet, momentarily bashful in his happiness (and isn't that something, that David of all people did that?), and as the first notes of "Fantasy" start playing from the DJ's speakers, Patrick barks out a laugh before he smirks at him, all of his typical confident swagger back. "Well, David, it looks like they're playing our song." He holds out his hand, the very same one David was just thinking he wanted so badly to hold. "Dance with me?"

David meets Patrick's hopeful gaze and outstretched palm, and he has no choice but to settle his hand in his before finally twining their fingers together and allowing himself to be led to the dance floor.

His arms settle over Patrick's shoulders as they sway, too slow for the beat, Patrick's hands steady on his waist. And when David can't look him in the eyes any longer without combusting, he pulls him in close.

It was a mistake.

" _When you walk by every night, talking sweet and looking fine, I get kinda hectic inside_ ," Patrick sings along softly, his face tucked into David's neck, his breath tickling his ear, his lips ever-so-slightly grazing against David's skin.

If David thought he was combusting from the eye contact, it's no match for how _this_ feels.

Patrick pulls him impossibly closer as his voice drops, impossibly soft, as he gently sings, " _I'm so into you. Darling, if you only knew all the things that flow through my mind_ ," into David's ear.

"Patrick..." He whispers, voice thick with emotion.

Patrick pulls back to look at him, and runs the pad of his thumb reverently along David's cheekbone and down his jaw to his chin, before pressing against it to tip David's head down slightly.

David watches, enchanted, as Patrick shifts closer, until he can't take the moment any longer and he surges forward, covering Patrick's lips with his.

It feels like everything around and inside him _explodes_. There are fireworks behind his eyes, sparks fly, his toes curl, the butterflies in his stomach flutter, his knees go weak, whatever the hell other clichés people use to describe perfect kisses. It's all of them and more. It's indescribable, kissing Patrick Brewer after months of longing and falling. He feels Patrick's hand tighten against his back, gripping him, keeping him steady and upright when he's afraid his knees will buckle, and he thinks how _lucky_ he is to have fallen for Patrick of all people — the one person he could count on to catch him if he needed it.

And _god_ , he needs it.

"Patrick..." He repeats, not pulling back, his lips still moving against his.

"God, _David_..." Patrick responds. And he _does_ pull back then, the hand on David's jaw stroking down his neck in a touch that does straight to David's core. "I've wanted to do that for so long."

David couldn't hold back the grin on his face even if he wanted to. "Mm, how long, exactly...?"

Patrick's eyes go soft, and David knows he's about to devastate him. "Since, 'Excuse me, who are you?'"

He knew it. Devastating. "Patrick..."

Patrick just leans up to kiss him again, and David feels every emotion he has tucked into that box break out like a rabid caged animal ( _note to self_ , David thinks, _come up with sexier analogies_ ) and surge to the forefront.

"'I'm Patrick, I just moved in here,'" David murmurs against his lips.

"What?"

"That's how long _I've_ wanted to kiss _you_. You shook my hand, and I knew you were going to be trouble."

Patrick grins. "So what I'm hearing is I have you beat."

"Yeah, sure, if that helps your competitive ego, fine. Just keep kissing me."

"Whatever you say, David."

He thinks that might be true. It makes him kiss Patrick harder.

\---

Bob drops them off at the motel, and David _really_ isn't ready for the night to end.

"Hey," he starts, nudging Patrick's shoulder with his, their hands clasped firmly between them, "do you want to hang out for a bit?"

Patrick nods, and they turn in opposite directions, Patrick stepping toward the far end of the motel while David steps toward his room. Their joined hands pull them back together.

"You _know_ I'm in room 7, right?" David asks with a laugh.

Patrick grins at him. "I thought we could hang out out here for a bit."

David's nose crinkles up in distaste. "Ou-outside?"

Patrick rolls his eyes, but pulls him along to the picnic table, climbing to sit on top of it and holding out his hand for David to join him.

And of course he does, because it's Patrick.

"Come on, lay back with me," Patrick cajoles him, gently easing him back until they are squeezed together on the tabletop, shoulder-to-shoulder on their backs.

"What are we doing?"

"We're stargazing."

"There are bugs."

"It's romantic."

"Is it?"

Patrick laughs. "Not with that attitude, it's not."

David turns on his side, just a bit, careful not to snag his tux on any splinters, before dropping his cheek to Patrick's chest and snuggling in. He feels Patrick's arm wind tightly around his shoulders, holding him close.

"I had a good time tonight," David tells the stars, refusing to look Patrick in the eye as he says it.

"Just tonight? Because we've been on like, five dates this week, and if this is the first good one, I need to step up my g—"

David lifts himself up and presses his lips to Patrick's, just to shut him up. And because he wants to.

"I had a good time _this week_ ," David jokes when he pulls away.

Patrick brings a hand up to trace his ear lightly. "Me too," he tells him on an exhale, sounding far more reverent than David thinks he deserves. "Do you remember how I told you I wanted to come on as a partner at the store? That I first wanted to ask you about it a few months ago?"

"Mmhmm." The day was really eventful, but how could he forget _that_ bombshell?

"I, uh... I also was going to ask you out that day."

David sits up a bit, propping himself up on one elbow, forgetting about the delicate nature of the wool of his tux for one minute. "So now that we..."

Patrick's hand traces lightly across his shoulders, soothing him. "Your store is amazing, David. I still want to be a part of it." He smirks. "Maybe even _more_ now."

"Well, okay then," David replies, tucking his smile into one cheek before it can force his entire face to wrinkle up with smile lines.

"Though we should probably set up some time to talk details, go through the—"

David just leans down and kisses him again, and kisses him, and kisses him, because he's allowed to now — encouraged to, even — before he feels _something_ tickle his leg under his tuxedo pants and he pulls away with a, "Nope, no, sorry, I'm not doing this outside, not even for you, come on," and he pulls a dumbstruck ("'Not even for me?' Can you elaborate?") Patrick along the sidewalk and into his room before continuing their prom night activities in his bed, and _oh_ , if frantic frotting in a cheap motel room isn't the full prom experience, he doesn't know what is. (And yeah, he's attentive and gentle and capable, all slow caresses and caring affection, and he's even more beautiful when he comes than David imagined he'd be.)

And after, blissed-out and kissing gently, his father comes barreling through the door looking for his laptop, followed by his mother, who greets Patrick with an "Oh, hello, Peter, I've been wondering when we would run into you here" before finally listening to David's pleading to leave them the fuck alone for a minute, _please_ , and disappearing back into their own room.

And despite it all, Patrick convinces David to let him stay, borrowing a t-shirt to sleep in, ignoring the large "DON'T" across the front.

And David falls asleep, Patrick's arms snug around his waist, holding him close.

\---

From: patrickbrewer@gmail.com

Subject: Partnership Agreement

To: info@roseapothecary.ca

Attached:  RA Partnership.pdf (196 KB)  Meeting Agenda.pdf (19 MB) 

Hello David,

Attached, please find a proposed partnership agreement regarding my potential involvement in the store for your review prior to our meeting tomorrow.

Also included is a proposed meeting agenda for tomorrow. As you will see, there is a reservation made at Bucatini for 7:00 PM. There is also a reservation for the Sherwood Inn, so we can maybe work out the kinks in a more private setting than our previous partnership discussion.

\- Patrick

  


From: info@roseapothecary.ca

Subject: Re: Partnership Agreement

To: patrickbrewer@gmail.com

Patrick,

I very much look forward to dinner and _working out the kinks_ of our partnership tomorrow night.

xx,  
David

  


**Author's Note:**

> feel free to chat with me on [tumblr](https://danverses.tumblr.com)!


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